


On the Wings of Ravens

by InsomniacCryptid



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Valhalla
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sorry Not Sorry, Twin Eivor AU, probably going to be long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniacCryptid/pseuds/InsomniacCryptid
Summary: It was difficult to track down the reincarnations of the others, but Basim knew he was getting close... he just didnt expect to meettwoof them by chance in Constantinople- impossible... or it was fate.Arne reminds him a bit too much of a hammer wielding god that Loki is all too familiar with, yet Sigurd remains more difficult to pin down. He bears the mark, yet his composure and decisions don't align with what he expected from the High One... Still, this was a better lead than anything he had at the moment... and befriending them was as easy as buying them both a drink.He'd find him... one way or another. He had waited this long, after all.
Relationships: Eivor/Basim Ibn Ishaq, Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 22
Kudos: 45





	1. Recalling Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Of course I was going to write a twin au with this, how could I NOT 
> 
> I hope anyone reading this enjoys this little self-indulgent thing, I'm not sure what ship I'm going for, but I'm definitely leaning more towards either Hytham or Basim... Basim would make things interesting indeed. 
> 
> I'm writing Eivor as I played her in the game; stealthy, kind when I could, kinda introverted at first. I May be projecting but OH WELL//  
> My brother and I were discussing the possibility of this and it inspired me to write it, so im largely basing Arne off of his Eivor, who was very much reckless and loud and your typical vikingr, so I thought it only appropriate that we make him the reincarnation of Thor, and keeping Eivor as Odin. I'll add minor tweaks to the canon story and such as I go, so thanks for reading!

It was always cold in Norway. Summers offered only a brief reprieve from the chill, and the other seasons passed so quickly, it seemed as though the land was instilled in an neverending snow. The climate was rough and thus, the people had to be the same. Tough. Forged in winter’s snow and battle-hardened by the need to survive. None served more as an example of this than the one they called Wolf-Kissed. But before she had that name, she was… just Eivor. 

It was Synin’s call that woke her. The sun had not yet awakened from it’s nightly slumber, the moon a sliver of silver low in the sky. Eivor didn’t waste time today, however, she had plans. 

With Sigurd and Arne taking to the swan-road, Styrbjorn busied with his duties as king... Eivor was left to her own devices. For thirteen winters she had struggled with the slaughter of her family, all but her and her brother, her father dying a coward's death on the words of a snake and her mother right beside him. She almost joined them at the claws of a wolf, if it weren’t for her brother Arne’s intervention. Still, the experience left her marked, in more ways than one. She lost her left eye from a swipe of the wolf’s claws, and had it bit down on her neck any harder she would have been dead. Arne had beat the wolf back with a sturdy tree branch and with Sigurd, she had survived… for what it was worth. She was in a deep sleep for days, weeks even, Svala and any other healing women that could be called on were sent for and fussed over her for nights on end… when she finally woke, she was blinded in her left eye, with two jagged scars across her face, and another marking her neck. The kiss of a wolf. 

Eivor didn’t remember things quite as those who worried over her did… while she lay unresponsive and hanging on to life… she dreamed. She dreamed of high marble towers trimmed in gold, the voices of the Nornir whispering the prophecies on their tapestries to her… and when she looked at herself, she saw... something powerful. 

_“This is not how you die, young one.”_ A voice spoke to her, the gilded walls falling away to a dark abyss, with only one person standing before her. 

_“Who are you?”_ She had asked. the man in the cloak smiled at her from beneath his hood, his single eye peering down at her as he knelt before her, offering her his hand. 

_“I am you, Eivor.”_

Eivor had taken his hand and when she opened her eyes, she was in Fornburg. Svala and the other healers called for Styrbjorn, Arne and Sigurd were beside her cot, both of them anxious- but there was… a presence beyond just those present in the room... It was then, that Eivor began to learn. 

For an entire season, she said nothing, only reading and spending time alone- even Vili could not drag her from her silence or solitude… but she was not alone. In her mind the hooded man spoke words of wisdom to her that she had never heard before, teaching her harsh but invaluable lessons as she learned and worked and trained. it wasn’t until the eve of the next season's spring did she speak again, asking questions and making observations that were unheard of from a child her age… As she grew and learned more, she learned who it was she shared her mind with… and her world grew by leaps and bounds. 

Odin gave her counsel, unheard to all but her, and she used it to her advantage. But today was not one of those days with Odin’s wisdom at her ear as she rose to greet the cold morning air. No, today it was a more… Personal, still healing wound that she hadn’t dared touch in the thirteen years since her parents death left her and her brother orphans. If Sigurd hadn’t saved them, if Arne hadn’t saved _her_ … it wasn’t something she wanted to think about… but it was time that she tackled it. 

With her brothers gone a-viking, most of what they would handle fell to her. She did as she was asked, quickly and efficiently, though any who spoke to the young woman would note the rush to her stride and the quickness of her hands. _Heillboer was a bit of a distance from Fornburg. She could make it there and back in a day if she were quick._ Odin was silent as she went about her day, but the weight of his presence was there, and it was a comfort for the coming emotional storm she was sailing into. It wasn’t until she was halfway to the docks that someone had braved calling out to her. 

“And where are you running off to, Wolf-Kissed?” 

Dag’s voice shattered her thoughts, a small flicker of irritation leaving a sour taste in her mouth as she halted in her step and turned to stare him down. 

“I don’t see why it’s any business of yours, Dag. Unless my brothers left you to trail after me like a mother hen in their stead.” She faces him fully as he comes towards her, placing a hand on her hip and cocking her head to the side, brow raised. 

Dag’s expression screwed up into a sneer, shaking his head. “They’ve done nothing of the sort. I’m merely making sure you aren’t running off to cause more trouble for our king.” 

_“Always sticking his nose into things. Too busy with others and their intentions rather than focusing upon his own.”_

Odin remarks in her head, his visage walking around Dag in a circle, before it disappears. Eivor shakes her head, annoyed at Dag’s inquiry and the god’s unhelpful input. 

“If I get into trouble, it will be mine alone.” She huffs, folding her arms when her words make Dag’s scowl deepen. 

“Yet you will inevitably bring it back to Fornburg with you, thus making it a problem for _all_ of us.” 

Eivor had turned her back to Dag, beginning to prepare her ship to leave for the trip, his words making her scoff. _If he knew where she was headed, he wouldn’t say a damn thing!_ But she was too stubborn, and she wasn’t about to be in a place of emotional vulnerability around Dag of all people. 

“So go tell Styrbjorn if you’re so worried, or come with me yourself, but I won’t be airing my affairs to you. I shall be back before the day is done, unless you intend to stall me further with this useless drivel.” 

Dag merely snorts and shakes his head, grumbling something she didn’t care to hear, but she saw him pick up his shield and place it on his back. Boarding her ship, she turns back to him and looks at him expectantly. “Well? Coming along?” 

“If only to ensure that you do not go charging headfirst into an axe.” Dag grumbles, boarding the ship and taking seat amongst the rest of the crew.

The sail unfurls as they push out of the harbor of Fornburg, and Eivor takes her place at the helm of the ship as Hagi begins to sing. 

What did she hope to accomplish, with this incursion? She wasn’t quite sure… Closure, maybe, or some kind of peace of mind. Maybe it was foolish of her. But it was useless pondering, now. She was on her way now, and the fruits of this journey would either be sweet or non-existent, and whatever it may be she would deal with it when she got there. 

Hagi’s song struck a nerve in her memory. Of a cold night by the hearth, songs and battle stories shared amongst warm food and drink with friends, family, clansmen… familiar faces flashed in her mind, all of them long gone… She should be making this trip with Arne… but he was never weighed down by the tragedy at Heillboer like she was. He let it so easily roll off his back, carefree and unburdened… She couldn’t understand how he did it. 

_“Learning from pain and choosing to let it bolster you is true strength, whether you mask it with a smile or a scowl. It is still strength.”_

Odin’s countenance echoes in the back of her mind, but his words do not still the unease and closeted rage that simmered in her veins. For thirteen years her parents had been denied justice, vengeance. Long enough to drive anyone to madness or recklessness… but she was not reckless. She couldn’t be. 

Synin’s caw pulled her from her thoughts, her eyes opening to observe the land coming into view beyond the old, dilapidated docks of her former home. The cold air dried the unshed tears in her eyes before they could spill down her cheeks. 

“Hold, we dock here.” Eivor commands, the ship slowing as the crew drops the sail, pulling the oars to further slow the path of the ship until the hull gently tapped upon the shore. 

Already, her gut has begun to tie itself into knots and she felt she may lose her breakfast- but Synin landing atop her shoulder and giving her ear a sharp tug drew her attention, scrunching up her nose at her friend before she lifted her hand to run gentle fingers through the ravens feathers. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“What are we doing here, Eivor? This place is nothing but a ruin.” 

Eivor ignores Dag’s question, jumping from her perch on the ship to land upon the shore, the foaming salt water splashing at her ankles. “Stay here. Watch the ship. I won’t be long.” 

She ignores Dag’s protests as she walks up the shore to her former home, ghosts walking alongside her and pushing her forward. 

Her steps slow as she enters the village, clenching her jaw and closing her eyes again as she touches the rotting wooden posts of the entryway to the small hamlet. For a moment, she can still hear the laughter of her mother, her father, all the friends and family that she and her brother grew up with… or would have. She opens her eyes, for a moment startled that her sight is flawed before her gaze refocuses, blinking tears from her eyes. 

She walks through the ashes of her former home, smiling at some memories and mourning others, before scaling the longhouse roof and looking out onto the fjords and rocky mountains of Rygjalfyke… to the north, plumes of smoke draw her eye, scowling as her gaze focuses on a streak of red and black. 

_**Kjotve**_. 

Walking back to the shore, her expression is set in a glare, taking command of her ship and directing them towards the smoke. 

“What now?” Dag gripes, folding his arms and glowering at her. 

Eivor doesn’t say anything, single blue eye firmly ahead. No, revisiting her home didn’t give her anything. But killing Kjotve? That would do everything. 

_“There will be a storm… I smell it on the wind.”_

Eivor nods, silent acknowledgement of the gods words. If there was a storm, then she shall be the herald of it, riding the tempest on blackened wings. 

Synin caws in the air, circling over the ship as Eivor pulls her war horn from her belt, sounding the horn of battle as she draws her axe. She was going to kill Kjotve, retake her family's honor… and end this damned war once and for all… and to Helheim with anyone who got in her way. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basim arrives in Fornburg and is beset with a foreboding feeling of dread... yet when he meets Eivor, that feeling disappears... until he realizes why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have drawn some art for this chapter!!! I wanted to draw Eivor and how she looks in this, posted to my twitter!! follow me there if you'd like, I post more art and other shit like that 
> 
> https://twitter.com/devoraakss/status/1351372709859627010?s=20

**_Basim_ **

Constantinople was warm and humid, such a contrast to this… barren, frigid Norway. Basim didn’t mind it, really. The difference was refreshing, even if he felt like his fingers would freeze off; all nine of them, anyway. 

Weather conditions aside, Basim’s mood was… dour. He had been doing as Loki asked, the god in his mind silent as they sailed to the home of these two Vikings- Fornburg. Loki had recognized Thor from his loud, brash manner, but Basim wasn’t so sure. His name was Arne, and while yes he was loud, reckless, impatient and a bit of a fool… There was a silent suspicion behind his eyes that made Basim uneasy. As though he knew more than what he was letting on, but played the part of the fool to keep him unassuming. 

_ “Thor isn’t smart enough for that, you are paranoid.”  _

Basim sighed quietly, drawing his gaze from the horizon to his companions on this trip- Arne sat against the mast, arms folded and his head resting against the mast as he dozed. Sigurd was at the helm commanding the ship behind him, and Basim sat towards the front of the ship with Hytham. He did have a duty to the Hidden Ones, after all, even if his duty to find the High One came before everything else; so he had brought his student with him, the young man had a bright future ahead of him, especially with him guiding his hand. He had his task, to find and kill this Kjotve. 

Basim would play his part until it led him to his prize… and he wouldn’t let anything get in the way. 

“You look troubled, Basim."

Hytham’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, turning his gaze to the young man. “Do I?” 

Hytham studied his mentor with an uncertain eye, his brow creased as he tilted his head. “Perhaps not. I still find it difficult to read you, you know… But if you are concerned I would ask that you share your thoughts. Do you think our companions lead us astray?” 

Basim smiles, small and without much humor, but a gentle expression regardless. “No, no. Merely lost in my own thoughts, Hytham. There is no need for concern.” 

Hytham lets the subject drop with a silent nod, returning to his meditation. Basim turns his gaze from his student to the horizon, where he can just begin to see the shadowed outline of mountains capped in snow… Norway. 

“We are nearly there, my friends, such stories we will have to tell!” 

Basim had not noticed Arne awaken, which further unnerved him- how could one so loud be so quiet? The man was absurdly large, with long blonde hair that hung off his shoulder in a braid and a beard to match. He leaned against the bow of the ship, peering down at Basim with a crooked grin. 

"I know my sister will be green with envy once she hears of our journey. I think she will be quite curious to speak with you, though. Favors the shadows, that one." He shakes his head with a hearty laugh. 

Basim tilts his head as he listens, his gaze drawn to the land ahead once more.  _ If this one was Thor, could it be his sister is Freyja…? _

_ "I doubt the fates would be so kind as to give three of my fellows to us."  _

Basim found himself agreeing. It was pure chance that they had found these two, and he wasn't even certain of his suspicions.

For whatever reason, the older assassin found himself growing anxious, the closer the landmass ahead became. His stomach twisted in on itself as though the world serpent itself was tying it into knots, and despite the admonishments from the god in his head that he was being too paranoid… the feeling didn’t lessen or improve, even as they finally pulled into the bay that housed Fornburg, the end of their journey. 

Arne leapt off the boat and onto the docks with a weighty thud, sweeping a woman on the docks into his arms in a tight hug as his laughter echoed in the bay. Basim watched the reunion curiously, wondering if the woman was the sister he spoke of, but he ruled that out when Sigurd greeted her with a kiss. His wife, then. He paid no mind to the norsemen bustling about and working on unloading the longships of their journeys spoils, his eyes surveying the docks, hoping to find the source of his dread amongst the people here. 

Arne and Sigurd make their rounds greeting their clan at the docks, everyone gathered around to see their viking princes’ triumphant return… Basim and Hytham stand back to give them sufficient privacy, as this elusive sibling of the two brothers seemed absent still, and that was who the assassins were most keen to meet. It was her who was heading the charge against Kjotve in the brothers absence, to his knowledge. It would be best for Hytham to speak to her, and Basim wished to meet her to confirm or debunk his suspicions, yet it seemed he must remain patient a little longer. 

The chilling feeling of being watched made him glance over his shoulder, his brows drawing together, lips pulling into a small frown; only to see nothing but the treeline behind him… yet… his green eyes snapped to movement in the branches of a large pine a few yards away, snow falling from the branches as whatever had been perched in the tree relocated, but he only caught a glimpse of movement… Perhaps he  _ was _ being paranoid.

The caw of a raven in his ear made him startle, his attention so focused on the treeline behind him to notice the bird that had landed on a post beside him. Hytham had come to stand opposite him, giving him a curious look as he muttered a small curse under his breath. Basim shook his head, sighing at his own paranoia and nerves, staring down the bird with a frown. 

The bird looks right back at him, tilting its head as it squawks, flapping its wings indignantly; as though to shoo him off. Hytham laughs softly, watching the display curiously.  _ Fitting, that it is a raven that finds his presence unnerving. Good. Perhaps this was Muninn or Huginn, and they would warn their master of his coming… wherever he may be.  _

“Hello there, little one.” Basim muses, smiling wryly and clicking his tongue as he offers his hand to the bird… it seems to contemplate his hand, inching closer before nipping his hand hard, making the assassin swear and pull his hand back. 

“Synin!” 

Basim watched as the bird squawked at him and took off, gliding towards a woman who approached the docks from the eastern treeline. The bird lands on the woman’s outstretched arm, drawing his gaze to her face.

A sudden, frigid chill roots him to the spot, the god in his mind eerily silent as she draws closer, allowing him to get a better look at her. She stands a head shorter than him, dark hair tied back out of her eyes in several braids that are tied off halfway, allowing the rest of her hair to fall freely around her shoulders. But it’s her eyes that have him frozen. One blue, and one a milky white, blinded, no doubt by the two scars that cut through the skin of her face, disrupting the scattering of freckles on her cheeks. 

“I apologize, Synin usually doesn’t react so strongly to strangers…” 

The woman speaking draws him out of his stupor, the assassin pulling his hand closer to his chest, giving the woman a curt nod in acknowledgement. 

“It’s quite alright, no harm done…. Synin?” Basim tilts his head, his dread from the trip all but dissipated, forgotten, as this woman held his attention… He wasn’t sure why, but she was captivating, in a way. Lovely, obviously, but there was… something about her, and he just couldn’t bring himself to look away. Hytham glances at him, then to the woman, carefully wary, uncertain.

_ “Snap out of it, you fool, do not let your guard down. You cannot afford to slow now.”  _

“It means ‘Insight’,” she says, giving him a half smile. He isn’t sure why it feels familiar, this interaction, it leaves him perplexed in the best of ways. 

“Ah, Eivor! There you are!”

Sigurd’s voice draws their attention, the woman seeming to brighten as he approaches with Arne beside him. Synin leaves her shoulder as she greets the two, pulling both of them into a strong hug that makes the two larger men sway a little. 

“Two years and neither of you have changed a bit!” She says, stepping back from them and glancing at the two assassins. This was Eivor? This was their sister? 

“I see you have already met Basim and Hytham, our friends from Constantinople.” Sigurd says, gesturing to the two men opposite them. Eivor turns her head and places a hand on her hip, a wry smile on her lips. 

“In a sense. Synin decided to investigate herself, I intervened before things escalated.” 

Arne snorts, shaking his head. “That damn bird of yours is cranky.” 

Eivor laughs, folding her arms over her chest. Basim watches her body language and the way she holds herself carefully, Loki having fallen dreadfully silent… Something wasn’t right here…

“Not always. She is on edge, with the recent events of late.” her countenance darkens as she speaks, her gaze going to the horizon momentarily before resting on Basim once again. 

“Father still struggles with action against Kjotve, does he?” Sigurd’s words ring true, but he doesn’t need her to say it to know that. Her silence and expression speaks more than enough. 

“He does… I had a… run-in with some of his dogs… I retrieved this.” She pulls an axe from her belt, masterfully crafted and maintained. “Gunnar repaired it, and I thought it only fitting that you bear it now, Arne.” 

Arne looked… shocked, an expression Basim was not used to seeing on the man, but whatever this weapon was to him, it meant a great deal. 

“Fathers axe… You found it…” He murmurs in awe as he takes the weapon in his hands. “Thank you, Eivor… though… why do you not keep it?” 

Eivor gives him a smile, punching his shoulder lightly. “And deprive the eldest son of his birthright? Nonsense. It’s yours, brother.” 

Arne smiles, shaking his head and shrugging off the punch, sliding the axe into his belt. “By two minutes…” 

Sigurd watches his siblings banter with a fond smile, glancing to Basim and giving him a short nod. “Well, let us carry this conversation to someplace warmer. We can tell you all about our journey over food and drink!” 

Basim watches as the three siblings lead the way to the longhouse... but his gaze is stuck on the woman, Eivor. It couldn't be coincidence... It _couldn't._ If she... If She was the Mad One, Havi, _Odin..._ then finally, his search would be finished. Finally, he would be able to bring vengeance upon the one that had done so much hurt, inflicted so much suffering upon his life. Invigorated, Basim gives Hytham a smile and a nod, following after the three to the longhouse. He could be patient a while longer... if only to find the right moment to strike, to make his revenge all the sweeter. 

* * *

**Eivor**

Styrbjorn certainly spared nothing on the festivities of his son’s return. Eivor unfortunately wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. After a slightly more complicated raid against Kjotve’s forces, a yelling match between her and Styrbjorn, and the… unsettling meeting of Basim… Her head began to ache, a pulsating pain that radiated from her temples and focused right behind her blind eye. 

She had escaped away from the festivities for a moment, needing some air. Sitting on the stone outside the longhouse doors, she holds her left arm, examining the blade that her brothers had gifted her… a trademark of the order these secretive strangers belonged to. It was beautiful, deadly… and on top of it all, Sigurd had convinced Styrbjorn to finally allow them to strike against Kjotve.

Despite how she should be feeling overjoyed, there was a darkness to the good news that her brothers return brought. Something that ran deeper than the venom Kjotve had poisoned this land with… Something that arrived on the wind with these shadowed strangers. 

She had watched their arrival from the treeline surrounding Fornburg, perched in her favorite tree… She didn’t know his name then, but Basim had caught her attention immediately. Odin stayed silent as she watched, it was only when he turned to look at her that she felt the god speak and bid that she hide from his searching gaze. 

If it weren’t for Synin, she likely would have stayed hidden… but it was fate that they meet, her brothers would have had them introduced eventually…

“You do not indulge in celebrations as much as your brothers do." 

The deep rumble of Basim’s voice made her jump, and Synin screeched from her perch in the rafters above them; her friend's alarm had her rising to her feet and turning on her heel. He’d approached from her left, where she couldn’t see him. 

“Basim. You startled me.” Her voice remains even, despite the rapid beating of her heart. 

_ “Snake. Traitorous dog. Vile deceiver!”  _

Odin’s rage confounds her, she doesn’t wholly understand it, or why it’s directed at this man of all people. 

“Do you startle easily now, Havi?” 

Her blood runs cold at the familiar name, looking at him with a guarded eye. Odin rages in her mind, but she quiets the old god, tuning him out and controlling her expression carefully as she watches him draw closer to her. There is a venom in his gaze that knows no bounds, she doesn’t entirely understand it… but she knows that he knows, he  _ must. _

“No,” she says slowly, taking a slow step back as he steps forward. “I don’t.” 

Basim eyes her suspiciously, but he’s almost entirely impossible for her to read. There is a chilling familiarity to his gaze that makes a small part of her sad, like she was looking at a lost friend, but Odin’s rage inside of her mind knows no bounds. It makes the ache behind her eye worsen. 

“You know, I’ve been looking for you… for quite some time.” Basim says slowly, though he wields no weapon outright, she knows he hides a blade on his arm as she does now, but he’s not stupid enough to attack her here- in her home. 

“For me? Or Odin?” 

It was a risk to say aloud, but the reaction it draws from him confirms her suspicions. Basim’s sneer is almost palpable, deadly. 

“Is there a difference?” 

“ _ Yes. _ ” She responds immediately, glaring him down. “We may share a mind and a body but my actions are my own… Just as yours are.” 

Basim laughs, harsh and humorless as he takes a threatening step towards her, hand twitching to his sword. “Do you even know who I am?” 

_ “Loki, trickster, traitor!”  _ Odin howls, but she doesn’t back down, glancing at his hand on his sword. “You aren’t stupid enough to attack me here, among my friends and allies, Loki. Don’t make Basim do something he can’t undo.” 

If Basim was like her… If he shared his mind with a god- Loki- then… then he also had his own thoughts, his own mind… separate from the god in his head. She didn’t entirely understand the anger, the rage that seemed to be between the two gods- and if she knew anything it was that she knew almost nothing about their world… the world of gods. 

There is a moment of tense silence between them, Basim having turned his gaze from her to the ground, warring with the god in his head, it seemed… After what seems like an age, he steps back, his hand dropping from his blade at his hip. 

“There will be a time when you are no longer surrounded by those who protect you, Havi… and when that time comes, I will be there… and I will make you suffer, just as I have suffered.” 

He doesn’t say another word to her as he turns and enters the longhouse again, and Eivor allows herself to relax a bit, the adrenaline dying in her veins and leaving her shaking. 

_ What in Helheim was that about? _ Here was this man, her enemy apparently, vowing to kill her or worse… and she had to act as though they were friends amongst her people, all while waiting for a knife to slide into her gut from the shadows. 

She needed counsel… from someone who wasn’t on a raging spiral in her head and making her headache worse… there was only one person she could think of that would help and not deem her crazy… Valka. 

Turning her back on the longhouse and slipping into the shadows of the night, she runs down the path towards the seers home, hoping her friend could offer her some kind of insight… and if not… Well… It was only a matter of time. 


	3. In Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eivor goes to Valka and receives some unexpected news.

**Eivor**

Eivor liked to wander. It calmed her, eased her worries and gave her the blessing of a clear mind… She did not have that luxury today, having rushed to do her daily duties and sailed to Heillboer… then she had rushed headfirst, recklessly, into a skirmish with Kjotve’s wolves.

She had half a mind to take off into the wilderness and wander the snowy fields after her… encounter with Basim… or was it Loki? She wasn’t so sure. What if he wasn’t like her? Separate from the god in her mind. By now it was getting dark, but with Synin to guide her she didn’t have to worry about getting lost and freezing to death, but she was troubled and she had a feeling her usual wandering to cleanse her thoughts wouldn’t be enough to ease the weight on her chest. 

Valka had been a savior to her in more than a few ways. She had been Eivor’s closest confidant on matters of the gods and her more… personal relationship with the one in her head. She hadn’t told her the full extent of her… visions, as she called them, but she had spoken with her at length about the possibility of such things and what it could mean… but now? Now, there was a potential threat, and Valka was probably her only source of aid in this that wouldn’t write it off as insanity. 

Her boots crunch on the snow, the cold biting into her skin even through her furs. She pulls her cloak tighter around herself as she makes her way into the Seers home, rapping her knuckles agains the wooden supports of the entryway as she does. 

“Valka?” 

The seer in question sat in front of an altar, her mother asleep on a cot closest to the far wall. At hearing her approach, Valka turns her head and stands, brushing her hands off on her skirts. 

“Ah, Eivor. I expected you to be celebrating Arne and Sigurds return. What brings you to my door?” She inquires with a smile, folding her hands in front of her, a small tilt to her head.

Eivor tries to return her smile, but the expression is strained and doesn’t reach her eyes. Ever observant, Valka’s smile slowly fades as the mood that accompanied the wolf-kissed swept in. 

Eivor glances over her shoulder briefly, before she speaks. “I… I must ask that what we speak of here reach no-one else. Do I have your word on that?” 

Valka nods, her expression serious. “Of course, Eivor. Come, sit. Tell me what troubles you.” 

She turns, gesturing to the circle of furs and pillows on the floor of her hut. She takes a seat herself, crossing her legs under her and waiting in silence for Eivor to begin speaking. 

Eivor sighs, a bit of the tension leaving her shoulders at Valka’s promise. She sits opposite the seer in a similar manner, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands together, leaning forward to rest her chin against her folded hands. “It is in regards to my visions… I have not told you the true extent of them…” 

Valka’s expression goes from concerned to almost amazed as Eivor weaves the tale of the truth of her relationship with Odin, the gods presence a constant in her mind and always with her, guiding her with his counsel at times… When she finishes, Valka looks at her as though she’s a treasure of the highest caliber. 

“So… the All-Father is here, with you- with us- right now? In your mind?” 

Eivor nods slowly, unclasping her hands to rest them on her knees, nervous now at her friends prolonged silence. 

“I… I’m afraid I don’t quite understand… What is it that troubles you? Has this contact ceased?” Valka finally speaks, puzzled as to her reason for this conversation. 

“No… No, the opposite in fact… But… I’ve met another similar to myself… Odin speaks of the traitor Loki having influence upon them, but there is a… gap, a modicum of … of memories that are mine and yet… I cannot recall. This individual seeks to do me harm and I wish to know why before taking any action against them…” 

Valka is quiet for a long moment. The wind rustles through the trees outside but Eivor is deaf to all but the silence that spans between them as the seer contemplates her words. A silence that is only broken when the seer stands and begins to bustle about her hut, collecting herbs and different ingredients, mashing them together in some sort of concoction that makes a peculiar smell as they all come together. 

“I think that this may do the trick. It is a potion that will make these visions of yours clearer, hopefully it will help. Drink deep, Eivor, and when the potion has done it’s task, we will speak more of what you have seen.” 

Trusting her friend, and in need of further clarity that Odin himself was either not privy to or did not deem it necessary for her to know, she takes the potion into her hands and drinks the brew. 

It tastes of acrid, bitter herbs and salt, with something else she can’t quite place. For a moment, there is nothing, but then her head begins to fog, her mind slowing and her eyes growing heavy. She doesn’t fight the sensations, instead letting it take her underneath the churning waves of uncertainty, deep in her mind.

* * *

For a moment, it feels as though she is swimming through icy waters. Like when she and Vili had jumped off the docks to escape Tekla’s wrath after they had been causing trouble around her brewery… But this is different. 

These icy waters are black as tar and the chill bites into her very  _ hugr _ , and there is something in the darkness that moves against her legs, brushing rough scales against her. There is a current that pulls her down, she’s holding her breath but she knows she will drown if she is pulled any further down. Light just barely pierces the darkness, casting shades of murky blue and green in her eyes. In the shadowed water, she sees the body of the serpent- Jormundgandr. She has to fight the shriek that bubbles in her chest, keeping her mouth firmly shut and kicking up to swim to the surface. 

Her lungs burn as she fights against the unseen force dragging her down to the depths, but the light above grows brighter so she keeps fighting- even as she hears a dulled roar of the world serpent in the waters around her. 

The outline of a hand casts a shadow through the water onto her face, reaching through the waves out to her and she feels the urge to grab it- so she does. Her world spins as she is pulled from the icy depths, a sudden rush of warm air hitting her face as she gasps, taking great gulps of air to soothe the burn in her chest. But she can’t savor it, nor can she even process what is occurring, for the hand she holds onto belongs to Basim. 

“I promised I wouldn’t let you down, didn’t I?” he gives her a smile that’s so different from the mask he wore in Fornburg, she suddenly feels like she’s not in control of her own body as she moves- speaks. 

“I knew you wouldn’t.” her voice doesn’t feel like her own, the tone too soft, too fond of the man she had just moments ago felt such a strong apprehension towards- it makes her recall the last person she had spoken so sweetly to- Vili... but that didn't work out. 

The scene abruptly shifts as the ice beneath them cracks and shatters- Basim's hand is no longer in hers, and she’s beset by howling wings and icy shards of snow that slice into her skin. A blizzard. 

She can barely see her hand in front of her, but a flame blazes a ways away from where she stands, just barely able to make out the flicker of light. Blindly, she stumbles through the maelstrom towards it, coming to the precipice of a cliff. As she approaches the bluff, the wind and snow dies, revealing the massive, hulking jaws of a monstrous wolf with glowing red eyes. 

Separating her from the wolf is a small, flickering flame. The Wolf snarls, glaring at her, then it’s hellish gaze turns to the flames... and it leaps towards her, snarling maw open wide, teeth gleaming. 

Eivor jerks awake with a ragged gasp, eyes wide open as her chest heaves. Valka hurries to her side, hazel eyes searching her friend's expression. 

“What happened? What did you see?” 

Eivor takes a moment before she speaks, calming herself and her racing heart, swallowing even though her throat is dry as a desert. In as much detail as she can without revealing who it was she saw in her vision, she recounts the strange dream- The dark waters, the world serpent and the hand reaching to free her from the waters, then the mountaintop, the blizzard and the flame, and then the wolf. 

Valk hums as she contemplates her retelling of the dream, tapping her finger to her chin as she paces slowly. 

“The waters and the world serpent represent uncertainty and deception in the shadows, but this person who freed you from it, they will be the one to bring you back to truth and clarity… the storm and the flame… It is difficult to say, but I think that you will be thrown into something much bigger than yourself, but this person… this relationship you build with them will see you through it, it will be the flame… but the wolf symbolizes a betrayal… You will betray this person who has helped you.” 

Eivor frowns deeply at her deciphering of the dream. “Are… you certain?” 

Valka waves her hand. “Of course not, nothing is ever certain when the gods are concerned. But that is what I see from this vision of yours… I hope you have taken some clarity from it, but come back and see me should we need to further delve into this… connection of yours. With time, I may come up with something more that will help.” 

Eivor sighs heavily, but nods. “Thank you, Valka…” 

It seemed that she was to leave with more questions than answers, and Valka’s deciphering of her dream did nothing but dig the pit in her stomach deeper. She left the seers hut, still hearing the celebrating of her clan in the longhouse, she walked slower back to the main settlement, hoping to come to some solution in her silence. 

Just as she came to the edge of the town, she caught movement in the shadows. Her hand goes to the dagger at her waist- but the brief blur of black and red sets a fire in her chest that fogs her current unrest. Kjotve dared to send spies? 

_ “Kill them. They will run back to their master like rats.” _

She didn’t disagree with the god in her head as she took off in a sprint after the scout. She would send them all to Hel, let her frustration out with her blade, and contemplate her personal predicament later. 


	4. Stormy Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basim makes a plan, and Arne has a dream.

**Basim**

It wasn’t often that the assassin found himself kept awake by restless thoughts, but it seemed that tonight was the exception for Basim. After all these years he had found his target, his revenge was so close… 

_ “Why do you hesitate now? You can kill her and be gone before they even realize what’s happened!”  _

Loki had been whispering in his ear since the confrontation with Eivor outside the longhouse, so much so that Basim had begun to develop a headache. 

“I can’t, there are too many unknowns… doing that now, here, it would be signing my death warrant. She is surrounded by allies!” Basim muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. The god falls silent, he can feel him seething in the back of his mind, but he was just relieved that Loki had finally gone quiet. 

He sat in the room in the guest house given to him by Sigurd, his apprentice sleeping in the room adjacent to his. As far as privacy went, this was as alone as he could be, given that the sounds of the celebrations still echoed out from the longhouse. His journey had been a long one and while he was exhausted, his mind was still very much awake and he was not going to sleep anytime soon. 

Resigned to his fate of lying awake on his bed, he had almost begun to doff his armor when he noticed movement outside. Just outside the settlement, a cloaked figure ran along the perimeter, he could just barely make out the shades of red in the shadows. Curious. Not a second had passed before another figure followed after the first, this one though he recognized. 

_ Eivor.  _

Loki didn’t need to urge him to move, this time. Casting a glance to Hythams sleeping form across the hall, he carefully and quietly slipped from the guest house, pulling his hood over his head as he ran to catch up with the woman. 

She had already caught the prey she pursued by the time he approached. As Eivor pulled her blade from the scouts gut, he could see this man bore the head of a wolf in red and black on his shield and armor. 

“Kjotve has sent spies. There may be more of them.” Eivor speaks, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Her gaze is guarded and wary, as it should be. Loki still seethes in restless anger when he looks at her, but there was a common enemy here… He was indeed after Kjotve, the order of Ancients needed to be destroyed, and though it was Hytham’s assignment, Basim  _ was _ his mentor. He could not forgo his duty to the Hidden Ones to recklessly seek his vengeance. 

“Then we should dispose of them.” Basim surprises himself when the words leave him. 

_ “What are you doing?! Kill her!” _

_ Patience. _ How ironic that it was now he who was scolding the god to be still and wait, when just a day prior it had been reversed. 

“We?” Eivor asks, rising to stand and face him. If it were not for the palpable tension in the air, one would not think that they were even at odds with one another. 

“For the time being, Havi, we are on the same side. Kjotve poses a significant threat to us both, we cannot seem to be fighting amongst ourselves. Should word of our… disagreements reach Kjotve, well… it would be unfortunate for us both.” 

“Didn’t you say that you wished to kill me?” Eivor poses the question sensibly, her gaze hard and chilled, like ice as she glares at him. It’s amusing, almost, how easily he can get her to scowl. 

“I did, and that hasn’t changed, but I am sensible enough to set aside personal grudges to take care of the larger threat.” 

“Comforting,” she says flatly, sarcasm dripping from her voice like venom from jormundgandr’s fangs. 

“Indeed. Let us dispatch these scouts quickly and quietly, then inform Sigurd of what we’ve found.” Basim puts emphasis on the facade of cheer he wears, giving Eivor a smile as he turns his gaze to the mountain that the scout seemed so keen on getting back to. 

“They must be camped nearby…” 

Eivor’s scowl deepens, muttering to herself before she closes her eyes, as if concentrating on something. After a pause, she opens her eyes and turns her gaze further to the north. “They are camped further up the path, in a crevice between two mountains.” 

The caw of a raven makes Basim turn his gaze to the skies, spying her bird- what was its name? Synin?- circling overhead, a ways away. It seemed she inherited more than just odins fondness for the birds, she had their sight at her disposal as well. 

“Then let us not waste more time.” he says with a decisive nod. 

“Indeed.” she grumbles, pushing past him with a harsh shove of her shoulder. 

Basim staggers a bit, the strength behind it taking him by surprise from such a small woman. He huffs through his nose, a wry smile curling his lips. If anything, this would prove to be insightful. If he learned what got under her skin, what made her truly angry, what motivated her… He could inflict more pain than by merely killing her. 

_ “Hmph… Well, perhaps you have a brain after all.” _

Basim rolls his eyes at Loki’s snide remark, following close behind Eivor… He would keep his friends close and his enemies even closer. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Arne**

Solving disputes through diplomacy was absolutely not Arne’s strength. He preferred problem solving through the means of his axe in hand and blood bathing the ground at his feet. He enjoyed the rush of the battle song in his veins, the wingbeats of the valkyries coming to claim his foes and the songs of victory sang in his triumph. Peace talks were the exact opposite of that. 

Sitting in the shaded halls of the longhouse with his fathers axe in hand, he listened to Styrbjorn and Sigurd argue over what was to be done not only about Kjotve, but also the threat of King Harald Fair-Haired to the north in Hordalfyke. Their war with Kjotve’s clan had dwindled the Raven-Clan’s power significantly, Arne could reasonably understand his worry, and despite his usual grandeur and confidence… Arne himself could not see a pleasant outcome for his clan, should they also go to war with Harald. 

He was content to leave the governing to his brother and Styrbjorn, however, as his current thoughts were focused on something else entirely. 

When his sister had given him his fathers axe… it was almost as though he had a vision. It wasn’t exactly clear, at the time… but when he had fallen asleep that night, it all came back to him like a terrible flood. 

He stood on a mountaintop, below him were dark clouds that lit up with veins of lightning. Opposite him on this mountain was Sigurd, but he was… changed. It terrified him, to see his brother so haggard and wounded, his right arm severed just above the joint. His back was to his brother, though the dark clouds overhead screamed of scorn and disdain, thunder and lightning crack the skies in violent, sporadic bursts. Alas, he could not call out to him. A loud, booming cascade of thunder shook the ground, creating a jagged crevice in the ground, and Sigurd was gone. The thunder was followed by the mournful howl of a pack of wolves and lightning flashed across the skies, blinding him. When the light faded he was face with another figure before him, this time between himself and the edge of this cavernous ravine. 

His sister, Eivor. She stood on a crumbling ledge, teetering on the edge of being swallowed by the growing darkness of the abyss below them. Terror clutched his throat in a vice, unable to call out to her though she stood much closer to him than Sigurd had. Her hair was freed from its usual braids, billowing behind her as she turned to look at him. Alarm and shock seized him, her name dying on his tongue as he beheld her face- her blind eye had been gouged out, blood dripping down her scarred cheeks, her lips chapped and cracked, her single eye drawn to the skies above him. Despite her haggard and disheveled appearance, she looked unburdened, as though she felt no pain from the state she was in. Lifting a hand to the skies, the tingle of electricity along his nerves made him surge towards her, panic welling in his throat as she tipped back- 

His steps threw him towards her but he grew no closer as her form plummeted over the edge into nothingness, his finally finding his voice as a ragged, mournful scream tore from his lungs. 

“ **NO!!** ” 

His voice boomed with the might of thunder itself, echoing around him like a mighty bellow of a war horn. Lightning cracked across the skies and the very earth itself moved as another clap of thunder shook the skies in succession, something streaking across the sky towards him and landing with heavy impact at his feet, a radiant light blinding him once more. 

When his vision cleared for the last time, Arne was faced with himself. All around him was nothing but blinding white, he could not even make out the sun in the sky, nor any ground beneath his feet. He looked to himself, the mirror image standing tall and proud, clad in strange armor he’d never seen before- steel and deep hues of blue, the helmet held beneath his arm bore wings on the sides, and in his sword hand, a mighty hammer, humming with power and crackling with lightning. 

Arne had awoken with a start, drenched in a cold sweat, his hands shaking. If it had not been for Eivor returning with Basim in tow with news of spies from Kjotve on the perimeter, he would still be reeling over his dream in his room. 

Instead he was contemplating the events of his dream in the longhouse, a whetstone in hand as he sharpened his fathers axe… though he loved and admired his father greatly, the weapon felt foreign in his hands. Perhaps it was because he favored two handed axes to the lighter ones, or maybe… it was the stain of honor that this axe represented? His father had willingly cast it aside on a false promise, forsaking Valhalla with his mother… The sting of that fact still hurt, but he had accepted it and he knew that Kjotve would get what he deserved. Oathbreakers and traitors belonged to Niflheim and the forgotten ghosts beneath the ice. 

Arne couldn’t understand why his sister would give it up, though… She had handled their parents death the worst out of the two of them, Arne had stepped up to kind of be the example for her… or he tried to be. He didn’t feel like he would benefit from having his fathers axe as much as she would. 

He hadn’t been paying attention to Styrbjorn and Sigurd, too deep in his thoughts to notice when their warring of words had subsided. 

“Arne!” 

Sigurds voice tugged him from his thoughts, looking up to find his brother striding towards him with a lopsided grin on his face. “Come! We go to plunder Kjotve’s goods!” 

Was this not what Styrbjorn wanted to avoid? 

Arne was never one to question his brother, however, and it seemed sigurd was eager to begin whatever plan he had set in motion now. Sliding his fathers axe back into his belt, Arne followed after his brother with a wordless nod. He would contemplate his restless dreams at a later date, for now, there were battles to be won. 


	5. Towards Mercia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norway holds no more for the wolf-kissed and her brothers, so Sigurd makes the choice to take to Mercia, for unconquered lands and new adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a filler chapter to get the ball rolling onto the events of england and beyond!

**Arne**

  
  


This… it was a mess. 

Between Kjotve’s death, Gorm’s exile, and Styrbjorn seceding to Harald… A lot happened in the past two days. 

After Eivor and Basim had taken out Kjotve’s outposts and he and Sigurd had taken a settlement from Kjotve’s control, they received a rather surprising offer of aid from Harald. With the bolstered forces, they would be able to attack Kjotve’s stronghold itself. 

Of course, it wasn’t an easy task, but they would take care of the blood debt owed to Arne and Eivor before the assault proper. They gave Kjotve the option of a holmgang- a more honorable death than the one offered to his father… Eivor was especially upset at this. Arne understood her anger, but he reasoned with her that they could not stoop down to crawl in the same muck that Kjotve thrived in. She didn’t like it, but she had agreed, so long as Arne was the one who struck the final blow. 

In preparation for the battle, Arne decided what he was to do with his fathers axe. Eivor was perplexed, when he had given her the weapon back. 

“I feel you would benefit from it best. I’m better with heavier weapons, after all.” Arne said. His sister had been speechless, but the siblings didn’t need words between them to know the feelings of the other. The axe meant far more to Eivor than it did to him, anyways. 

The battle with Kjotve was harrowing, but Arne fought through it- the only hiccup was that Hytham attempted to strike a killing blow, and it threw what should have been a one on one fight into disarray. Eivor had leapt into the fray to protect Hytham, and together the two of them had put Kjotve down- Arne swung his two-handed axe at his legs, and Eivor swung their fathers axe at his head. 

When Kjotve was in pieces at their feet… it was like the burning gates of Helheim were opened. Gorm refused to surrender his fathers stronghold, and the siege began. With Arne rushing into the battle head first, Eivor was able to slink behind enemy lines to open up the gates- by nightfall the stronghold burned and Gorm was racing on the wind towards Hordalfyke. 

If it hadn’t been for Sigurd keeping her there, Eivor would have given chase, but for that night they celebrated their victory… at least, Arne had. Even through the mead, he noticed his sister had not touched her horn. In fact, she had been… deep in conversation with Basim. 

Over the past two days, Eivor and Basim seemed to be… enamored with one another. It was subtle, but Arne picked up on more than most gave him credit for. Basim had excused himself to see to his apprentice, and once he was out of earshot, the vikingr staggered and swayed over to his sister, flopping down on the bench beside her. 

“You seem… rather… whisked away by our... friend from constantinople, sister.” 

Eivor looked at him like he had sprouted a second head. “In what way do you mean?” 

Arne knew his sister, and though she tried to play a tough game, but he saw the flush rise to her cheeks. “It just looks like you’ve finally found someone who can pull your head from your books, is all…” 

She had scoffed and told him to go soak his head, but she had stomped away from their conversation looking redder than Sigurds beard. Arne was happy for her, Basim seemed a decent man, if a little secretive- but so was she. They were perfect for each other. 

Unfortunately, the clansmeet did… not go to plan, at least… not like they thought it would. Sigurd was _livid_ , and Arne didn’t know how to fix it. 

They’d been back in Fornburg for barely a day, but already Harald’s men had begun moving in and asserting their order. Arne sat in the longhouse beside Eivor, the two of them listening to Sigurds plan.

They were to take to the swan-road, following in the steps of the Ragnarssons, to Mercia. An untamed, fractured land in need of a king… Arne and Eivor would follow, of course… but it was a large, daunting task... It was exciting, in a way. 

Once the secretive meeting had dispersed to gather what supplies they planned to take, Arne walked alongside his sister towards their longships to prepare for the voyage. She had said naught a word during the discussion, where he and Sugurd agreed to leave the spoils from Kjotve to Styrbjorn- He surely expected her to offer her sage advice… but she had been silent. 

“Eivor, you’ve been quiet as the dead… what’s on your mind?” 

She looked at him, giving a shrug of her shoulders. “Just… a large task ahead of us.” 

Arne nods. “Indeed… If… I may pry, a little… Have you had any… dreams, of late?” 

She tilts her head, a curious look on her face. “... Dreams?” 

He sighs, rolling up the ropes for the sails on his ship. “Aye, like… visions, dreams that have a deeper meaning.” 

“I… cannot say that I have… But if I did, I would consult Valka. She has a better head for those sorts of things.” 

Of course that would be her advice, Arne scolded himself for not thinking of it sooner… But his dream could wait. Now, they were fate-bound to England. 

“Well. Perhaps we can persuade her to join us, once we are settled in Mercia.” 

Eivor nods, giving him a smile and a firm pat on the shoulder. “I will speak to her on it before we leave for good.” 

Arne lets her go to make her own longship preparations, left to his own thoughts as he makes his ship ready for another long trip… Was his dream an omen to the events that would come to pass once they were in Mercia, was this journey going to be a mistake? The final crack in a fractured family that sends it all to pieces? 

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. He would have to trust in his siblings and the strength of his own resolve. Until he knew otherwise, his dream was nothing more than that. 

Just a dream. 

* * *

  
  


**Eivor**

Throughout the entire three weeks it took for them to meet the shores of Mercia, Eivor had been… careful. Basim was on her ship, so she got to know a bit more about him and he of her, much to the regret of both of them. 

Basim was apparently a more logical minded man, rather than a man guided by faith. Curious then that they were in the situation that they were, as Eivor could not understand how he could be so sure of her guilt in this presumed slight against him without a heavy bit of faith that Loki was not lying to him for his own gain. He was a trickster god! 

Eivor had not personally told him anything, but from the few conversations she had overheard, Basim was getting a general opinion of her from those on her crew and the folk who lived with her. 

She found her mind wandering back to the conversation with Arne on the night they took Kjotve’s stronghold. She couldn’t even begin to see how her interactions with Basim could be seen as infatuation as Arne assumed. He was drunk, so she had written it off as the drunken ramblings of her brother who was intent on teasing her as though they were still children. 

Three weeks was a long time, however, and she found herself contemplating what it might be like… if he wasn’t so intent on killing her, that is… A sudden realization hits her as she sit in the ship, looking up at the stars above. Was that why Basim had been shown in her vision? No, she refused- that was not the reason, it couldn’t be! It was… impossible, unthinkable. 

Yet she didn’t sleep that night, her thoughts occupied with the meaning of her vision and of Basim... and what her vision meant for the both of them. 


End file.
